Insights
by Cassandra West
Summary: A look into the things that make Jono who he is.
1. Who am I?

Title: Who am I?  
Author: Cassandra West  
Rating: PG-13 for language  
Fandom: X-men  
Pairing: Jono/Remy (slightly)  
Word Count: 1341  
Dates: Originally written January 2002, edited and cleaned up 12 August, 2004  
Notes: Part of a series called Insights that looks at particular moments in the character's lives. Originally written as part of an X-men slash RPG  
Main character listing: Jono  
Summary: Jono reflects on his past after a change as potentially devastating to him as his manifestation was.  
Author Notes:On a whim, I gave Jono back his face in a role playing game, this is about the impact that such an event would have on him. He's a full-fledged X-man and involved in a relationship with Remy, though the relationship doesn't really matter to the story. In keeping with the mentions of Les Miserables, the title comes from Jean Valjean's solo when another man is arrested in his place, causing him to question everything he has built his new life on.  
Acknowledgements: Thank you to my dear friend and adoptive brother, Star for the advice and corrections on punctuation and grammar.  
Disclaimer:Jono, Hank, Remy, Gayle, and all things X-men belong to Marvel, but the story herein is mine alone. I make no money from this.

Jono headed out of the medlab and up to his room. Once there, he searched his nightstand for the packet of cigarettes and ashtray he knew were still lurking somewhere in the bottom of the drawer, a relic of Angelo's nicotine addiction. They'd be stale and taste like shite, but it would be so good to smoke again. He lit up with a sigh, not nearly as good as curling up with Remy, but better than sitting around all tense, while he waited for the test results and for Hank and the Professor to have the time to devote to this new wrinkle in his mutation.

Hank contacted him to tell him to come down in an hour; and Jono stubbed out his cigarette and automatically lit another one. Some comfort to be found in chain smoking, at least. He wondered if anyone could possibly understand what he was going through. He wondered if he even understood, since he doubted he could articulate it. He hardly even knew who Jonothan Starsmore was without Chamber. His mutation had taken away every single plan he'd ever made for his future, as well as all of his hopes and dreams; his entire identity, really, and he'd had to forge someone new out of the debris. Everything, every hope of getting out of Muswell Hill and becoming something other than the next in a long line of occasionally working, usually dole-bludging Starsmore men, it had all ridden on his voice. His voice had given him every opportunity he'd ever had, and frighteningly enough, had given him his father's approval for the first and only time in his life.

His Nan was staunch Church of England, not just Anglican, but high church Anglican, as close to Catholic as you could get and still be Protestant. For some reason his Nan had found some comfort in the church, even though she only selectively followed its teachings. And she'd always wanted something better for him, than becoming a wastrel like her son and husband. She'd thought being a choirboy would be good for him, so he'd done it to please her. His old man had approved, because it got him out from underfoot for a couple of hours every Sunday, and a few more during the week for practice. Then someone had suggested that he would have a good shot at one of the spaces in the chorus in 'Les Miserables', if he auditioned. Forget chorus, at the age of eleven Jonothan Starsmore got his first paycheque for singing, he landed the role of Gavroche. And had entered an entirely different world. For the first time he had a teacher who could actually take the time to answer questions, who didn't feel his entire function was to keep students quiet and supervised until they could get the same dead-end jobs their fathers had, who encouraged him to read, who actually discussed his half-formed ideas about the plots of what he read. That same teacher had provided some interesting theories on the relationship of the Montague boys and their friends in Romeo and Juliet, and inspired some of Jono's more interesting ideas about some of Marius' solos in 'Les Miserables'. Suddenly, Jonothan Evan Starsmore mattered.

Sometime near the end of his run as Gavroche, knowing he wanted to continue to get paid to sing, he realised something very important. There were very few roles for pre- and adolescent males in musical theatre, and even fewer that were almost exclusively singing. Most roles required some speech. And, of course, there was the associated problem that only a handful of named roles were suitable for a kid with a Cockney accent so thick you could cut it with a knife. Purely musical roles were no problem, most people actually learned to sing with a different accent to the one they spoke with, and you certainly learned that when you were singing in Latin, like he'd done at first; but the speech intensive roles were a different story. So he paid for diction lessons out of his paycheck. 'Les Miserables' was followed by 'Oliver' and when he outgrew the title role in that, he'd moved up to the Artful Dodger.

By the time his run as the Dodger had ended, he'd been able to drop his accent for stage work- well enough to land the role of Friedrich in 'The Sound of Music', not that he'd been terribly keen on admitting to that stint later. No one on that set had realised he was a Cockney lad from Muswell Hill until he'd cut his hand one day and sworn a blue streak. Accent, intonation, and word choice had been pure Cockney.

Shortly before his sixteenth birthday, when he'd gotten just a little too old to be accepted as a fourteen-year-old on stage, he'd discovered that he suddenly didn't have another role to move into and had started busking for money to cover him until the next successful audition. He did fairly well off of it, too. Well enough to move out of his parents' house (thank all that's holy) absolutely as soon as he was old enough to convince some shonky landlord to rent him a scrungy little bedsit.

Then a succession of flats, each just a fraction better than the last, the band, and then moving in with Gayle. And opportunity just kept coming. When he'd manifested, he'd been trying to decide between taking his chances with a record company offer or taking the reasonably secure payhcheck for another run of 'Les Miserables', this time as Marius, the single best young male role going. It had never been a choice, really, and that's what he and Gayle had been fighting about. He was going to take the record company deal, it was a foregone conclusion; no way in hell could he have told the band hey guys, I'm scared we'll fail and if I take the role of Marius I'll have the chance to get more exposure and try again with more assurance of success in a couple of years.

So they would have been headed off to do the publicity thing, playing where the record company told them to try and drum up interest in the album. And Gayle had hated it, couldn't stand the fact that he wouldn't need her money anymore, that he'd be away from her with the opportunity to stray. Fucked up relationship that it was, he'd gone the easy route and let her think that all he saw it as was being her pet musician, that he was being kept. That's what everyone assumed it was, that was the explanation that caused the least strife with his friends and her family. Her parents could tolerate it, if she was just having a lower class fling, Lord knows everyone else did the same thing, as long as they kept it discreet, it was okay. Though he'd never quite figured out why living with her was discreet. His mates didn't bitch so much about him thinking he was better than his given place in society (but damn it, he was better than that) if he was just using her money. So they'd fought, and nothing could reassure her, not even the reminder that he was in a fucking band for Christ's sakes, he'd had the chance to cheat on her and never had. And then in a flash of heat and light, every chance he'd ever had, every dream he'd ever dared, had been destroyed.

Then the hospital, wondering what in the world he could possibly do now, the offer to go to the Academy, Generation X, finding a family, a better one than his own certainly, and the X-men. And here he was come full circle: once again trying to figure out who he was with a huge part of his identity gone. It wasn't as if he could just go back to being Jon Starsmore, actor and musician, but Jono was who Chamber was when he was at home, and he wasn't Chamber anymore, either.


	2. Doubts and Confusion

Title: Doubts and Confusion  
Author: Cassandra West  
Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual references  
Fandom: X-men Pairing: Jono/Remy, past Jono/Gayle

Word Count: 2394  
Dates: Originally written July 2002, edited and cleaned up 21 August, 2004  
Notes: Part of a series called Insights that looks at particular moments in the character's lives. Originally written as part of an X-men slash RPG Main character listing: Jono Summary: Jono has a dream that brings into question some of his assumptions about his manifestation.  
Author Notes:This is the dream referred to in the Coda to Fire of Justice. Occurs after 'Who am I?' and shortly before 'Fire of Justice' Jono has his face, and is involved with Remy. The relationship with Remy is far more significant to this fic than it was to the others in this series.  
Acknowledgements: Thank you to my dear friend and adoptive brother, Star for the advice on the story and corrections on punctuation and grammar.  
Disclaimer:Jono, Rogue, Remy, and all things X-men belong to Marvel, but the story herein is mine alone. I make no money from this.

Jono settled into Remy's arms and drifted deeper into sleep on the comfort of having a warm body curled close to him. He began to dream.

Images flitted through his mind, each disappearing as soon as he identified it to be replaced by another. Remy looking at him like he was the only thing that existed in the entire world. Gayle slamming her bedroom door in anger during one of their fights, leaving him to sleep on the sofa. Paige leaning in to kiss him when she'd been drunk that time. Gayle insisting that the bedroom door be closed so she could sleep. Rana spinning lightly to kiss him where his mouth would be, then skipping off before he could react. The boathouse with Remy. Photographs of Gayle's flat, lounge room destroyed, other rooms somewhat protected by the walls and doors. The gazebo last night. Gayle. Paige. Rana. The shower with Remy. Paige. Rana. Gayle. Tonight in his bed. The photo of the hall, just showing Gayle's bedroom, damage ending before it reached that door. This morning in Remy's room. Paige. Rana. Paige. Rana skipping off, a part of him yelling to go after her and throw his arms around her. Gayle. Groping Angelo in his basement room at the Academy, before he'd put a stop to it, rather than use his best friend. Gayle. Backing away from Paige, but moving just a little too slow to prevent the kiss. Gayle. Rana. Gayle yelling. Paige. Pushing Gayle away just firmly enough to put space between them, when she tried to use sex to get what she wanted. Rana. Gayle. Gayle. Gayle. Gayle.

Then he was there again. Gayle's flat. That night. He knew it immediately, even before he registered what this argument was about.

Jono moaned softly in his sleep, curling in on himself against Remy to get away from the scene playing out in his dream.

"They want us, Gayle. All of us... it's all or nothing. If they wanted me, or wanted the band without me, that would have been the offer. This is what I've wanted since I were fifteen, and even if it wasn't, I'm not taking the chance away from Vic, Charlie, and Andy. We're signing on Monday. I'm not selfish enough to make them work and slave and plug away for another eighteen months or more in the hopes of another chance; especially as offers will be harder to come by because they'll have rejected the first one."

Gayle glared, "But going off for months with two faggots you used to sleep with isn't at all selfish? To cities where no one knows you to spread tales back. Leaving your girlfriend and their socially acceptable little accessories behind. Forgive me for saying that it's not exactly a confidence inspiring scenario. It sounds more like planning a tryst."

"The word is bisexual, Gayle, as in interested in both men and women. And I used to sleep with them. Past tense. And all three of us are involved with other people now. Vic and Gavin ain't gonna fuck up their relationships just to get a piece of me arse. They ain't gonna fuck up my relationship with you for that, either. They wouldn't do that any more than I would. And think about who you're talking about, Gayle. Vic, the guy with no discernible sense of propriety, the one who outed me to me old man because he was sick of hearing Ethan rant about everything not white, heterosexual, and Church of England; the bloke what seems to actively try to have his whole life as socially unacceptable as possible." He turned away, trying to avoid getting as angry as he wanted to. "And Gavin... In case you've forgotten, he quite publicly has both a fiancee and a boyfriend, and has no problem at all with admitting to the whole world that Mary Elizabeth and Marcus are involved with each other as well as him. And not as if he's gonna be with us the whole time as he's just the manager. Neither of them are gonna be looking for sex with me."

He stopped, then turned back to her shaking his head. "Except this ain't about them, is it? Least it's only part about the fact that you think I'd take any chance to be with them again, damn the consequences. It's about the fact that I used to sleep with blokes, ain't it? You think that I'm doing the social acceptability thing, that I fuck you because opposite sex patronage don't raise eyebrows like same sex ones do."

"Can you blame me Jonothan? You walk around constantly proclaiming you're his. Wearing his coat, his watch..." she kept talking through his attempted protest, "and don't tell me that you've slept with as many, or more, women as you have men. Am I supposed to believe it's coincidence, that the only actual relationships before me were with males? Tell me why I should believe that I'm not just a cover for the two of you! What the upper class does among themselves is their own business, just like it is for the lower class. But there are fucking rules for crossing class lines."

He'd finally had a bit too much for one night; tired, slightly high, more than a little drunk, he didn't want to be having this conversation. Didn't want to deal with those doubts so carefully maintained, so that he could lie to himself that he hadn't broken the rules of cross class relationships long ago by falling in love. He lit up a fag, not particularly caring that Gayle would have fits about him smoking inside.

"Fuck! Gayle, we both know that the first rule is that it's never permanent, never official. Sow your wild oats, then grow up and be responsible and respectable. Never fall in love. Never make it legal. Give the little chippy a job as your housemaid; lie about the paternity of her bastard children. Let people think she's a slag. Oh, if you're a noble type, leave them a nice little maintenance in your will and expect them to be grateful that you bothered to acknowledge their existence. Or, if you're a woman, you give him a job as the stable-hand, go off into the country to give birth to his bastards, then fob them off on relatives who won't ask questions, preferably ones who live abroad. Or keep him around after you marry some useless rich git and lie about who the baby's father is. Me lack of membership in the Ethan Starsmore bastard brigade taught me that much. But you never marry them. You never admit that it's happening. The fact that Gavin's marrying Eliza should be enough to tell you that he doesn't hide who he's fucking, just to preserve appearances."

He slumped onto the sofa and closed his eyes. "I'm neither his lover nor his property, Gayle. Don't ever call that coat or watch a mark of ownership again. Wear them both because they were given me by a mate, and because I'm a Cockney bastard used to making everything last long as possible. Heaven forbid that I value things that were given out of friendship because I needed them more'n I do the attempts to replace them to soothe your ego. Not now and never was Gavin's doxie, gender implications notwithstanding. Never thought I was yours either, but if you keep me from taking the best opportunity I've ever had, that's all I am and will ever be."

"You ungrateful little tosser! You always talk about wanting to get out of Muswell Hill more than anything else in your life! I got you out of there!"

Jono dropped his cigarette into a water glass on the end table and surged to his feet, positively bristling with Cockney pride. "You left off the last half of that threat, ducks. You're supposed to tell me you can drop me back there any time you choose. Do it then! I'd rather go back there and have to claw me way out by meself, than be some pet musician on a leash. Always wanted to get out on me own merits. Won't be your lapdog or your whore just to get out of there."

Gayle went white with rage. Quick reflexes allowed Jono to catch her hand, as she tried to slap him. Holding it tightly, he spoke, "You don't want to do that, ducks. Never hit you. Been tempted a time or two, but never have because I refuse to be the sorry excuse for a man that Ethan Starsmore is. But you hit me, I'll hit you back. And be sure I would hit harder. So I'd think before you hit me." He let go of her hand and waited.

Gayle stared at him for a moment, hand still raised to strike, then spun on her heel and stormed out of the room. A few seconds later, Jono heard the bedroom door slam. He knew from experience that he'd be better off sleeping on the sofa, rather than going anywhere near the bedroom. Nearly getting his head taken off by a flying book, had convinced him on that score. He hated arguing about it, hated that what he'd said had hurt Gayle... but it was true or at least felt true. He had to take this chance. More than that, he wanted to take it. Wanted to show that he wasn't just like every other Starsmore male in living memory. Finally, he sighed and settled down to sleep. Maybe things would look better in the morning.

In the bed, Jono squeezed himself into an even tighter little ball, pulling away from Remy as his dream-self fell asleep. He'd been over this in his mind a million times. He knew what came next. He'd woken up to the devastation in the flat. Gayle crippled, and every dream he'd ever had taken by his manifestation.

But that's not where the dream was going...

He was mostly asleep. Something... something had woken him. Hands running over his chest and the front of his pants, kisses and nips on his neck, a female voice whispering how good she could make him feel... Gayle. Even only barely awake, he could recognise this scenario. Every time they fought, and they fought a lot, Gayle would initiate sex, if she felt they didn't make up soon enough. Sometimes it was an apology, sometimes an attempt to make him think with his cock instead of his head, but always a way of resolving the argument without actually resolving anything. He never knew what she'd decided the sex meant until afterward, when she would either act as though nothing had happened because she'd 'apologised', or insist that the sex had been his agreement with her side of the argument. No matter how randy he was, he was always better off saying no at those times.

He was still hurt and angry enough, as well as tired and drunk enough, not to want to deal with this. All he wanted now was sleep. Sex, whether Gayle was being manipulative or just trying to apologise, wouldn't help anything. He thrashed a little, seeking a more comfortable position, muttering sleepy nonsense, trying to slip into a deeper sleep again. And Gayle kept it up. He kept sinking as far into the sofa as possible, seeking only sleep, but Gayle kept trying to wake him. Trying to push her away, tell her he wasn't interested without waking up enough to co-ordinate his actions. He just wanted her to leave him alone for a while, let him sleep off as much of it as could be slept off.

The flash of heat that had woken him that night also woke him from the dream. He sat up in panic, whimpering softly from the nightmare. It only took a few seconds to determine where he was, that it had just been a nightmare and not a very surprising one at that, given recent occurrences. Remy rolled closer and reached for him as his weight shifted on the bed. Leaning against the headboard, he gasped out heaving breaths, until he started to relax. He knew that sleep was out of the question. He also realised that he could feel the solid form of his face and chest fading, and the psi-fire returning to its usual state. "Hrtzgbl?" Remy questioned in his sleep, settling a questing arm around Jono's waist.

Jono slithered out from under Remy's arm and grabbed the bandages off the headboard before getting up to avoid waking Remy. He kissed the other man's forehead lightly, prompting a "bsfkts?" from the sleeping thief. "Go back to sleep, luv. I'll be back later, swear it. Just need to sort the dream I had out in me head so's I can sleep," he whispered. He stayed beside the bed, watching his lover, as Remy settled back into sleep following his reassuance. Then he quietly donned a sweatshirt and pants, and snagged his guitar and journal. We can see where your priorities lie, Starsmore, and these are the only things you've bothered to unpack so far. Music or writing or mindless drivel on the television at this hour would provide enough distraction that he could just let his mind churn over the dream, until he could sleep again. Managing the items with the ease of experience, he slipped out into the hall, trying to decide between the television in the Rec Room and an out of the way corner to write or play.

Jono headed down to the Rec Room and turned on the television, sprawling onto one of the couches to tune his guitar. Only damn thing tea was ever good for, thinking time while brewing it and usually have some peace of mind by the time you finish the cup... or pot. Looking at his journal then the guitar, he considered what he wanted to do. Hell, might as well do it while I have the chance... if I still have the chance. He leaned his guitar against one of the endtables and headed to the kitchen. He went in and groaned to himself: Why does this place have to have a kitchen bigger than me bloody bedroom, the one at the Academy at that? How's a bloke supposed to find anything in this barn?


	3. Fire of Justice

Title: Fire of Justice  
Author: Cassandra West  
Rating: PG-13 for language  
Fandom: X-men Pairing: Jono/Remy (slightly)  
Feedback: candrawestfastmail.fm  
Word Count: 818  
Dates: Originally written July/August 2002, edited and cleaned up 16 August, 2004  
Notes: Part of a series called Insights that looks at particular moments in the character's lives. Originally written as part of an X-men slash RPG  
Main character listing: Jono Summary: Jono yells at Rogue about the hypocrisy of leaving Remy to die in Antarctica when the X-men have given second chances to people who did much worse.  
Author Notes:1) This opens from the same premise as "Who am I?", that Jono has joined the X-men, somehow got his face back, and is involved with Remy. 2) Essentially, Jono was unable to sleep and decided to take advantage of having his face back to have some tea. While he was in the kitchen, Rogue came in. In the interest of living together peaceably, he asked her what had happened in Antarctica, how she could leave him to die. The Rogue player gave this explanation: "Ah can't answer for anyone else, but Ah couldn't live wit' someone who took part in dat, even if he done no killin'. And neither could the Remy dat was still in my head." Rogue tapped her forehead again, in illustration. "He told me to leave him dere. Dat he didn't deserve love or affection. Dat's why Ah did." This is Jono's response. 3) I know that Hemingway and Leech were not a the Massacre in canon, I chose to place them there. Also, the reference to reverting to childhood is because in spite of knowing that Leech was very young and small when he ran into Kitty in the Morlock tunnels, I still remember him as taller and older. So in my personal universe, he actually physically and emotionally regressed after the Massacre.  
Acknowledgements: Thank you to my dear friend and adoptive brother, Star for the advice on the story and corrections on punctuation and grammar.  
Disclaimer:Jono, Rogue, Remy, and all things X-men belong to Marvel, but the story herein is mine alone. I make no money from this.

"You... you couldn't... couldn't live with someone who did that? You? Did I miss something here?" Jono stood abruptly, knocking over his chair, and began to move away from the table, trying to put enough distance between himself and Rogue to avoid doing something stupid. "You couldn't live with someone who doesn't have it in him to deliberately hurt anyone, but you have no problem living with Mystique... Terrorist extraordinaire... or Destiny? You didn't have a problem sharing a house with Sabretooth for fuck's sake, the original homicidal maniac from hell! You were bloody fucking Joseph, back when you all thought he was Magneto, the man who wants to kill 95 of the earth's population... But you couldn't live with Remy?"

He tried to get a handle on his rising voice, tried to stop himself projecting telepathically, but couldn't. He was shouting now, both with his voice and with his mind. /"You? The former terrorist? The person who permanently stripped another mutant's powers? The former member of the Brotherhood? The person raised by the woman responsible for Moira McTaggert's death and the Legacy virus killing humans as well as mutants? You couldn't live with him but you're sharing a fucking house with two of Apocalypse's horsemen... both of them signed on with him of their own free will. And the house you live in is owned by someone who killed all of the world's superhuman heroes until Franklin brought them back."/

He stopped, gasping harshly, desperately trying to reign in his outrage as his psi-fire flared with his anger: feeling the return to his usual state speeding up as the unconscious control he'd been exerting all day started to slip. /"Warren bloody consented to help Apocalypse take over the world! I know he was torn up about the loss of his wings, but he still made the choice... His sodding wings. You're talking about the Morlocks. You left Remy to die in Antarctica for that. You said yourself that Remy didn't kill anyone down there, but you didn't have a problem with that butcher Creed living here!" He took a breath and closed his eyes, gathering himself, before opening them and continuing softly, "I spent the last two and a half years being mattress, pillow, friend, confidant, protector, and bleeding big brother to one of the survivors of that Massacre... So fucked up by it that he reverted to the childhood he never had to cope with it. Had me a front row seat for his nightmares about it... And those were the times we were lucky, because I could get into his head and help him wake up. Rest of the time he'd lose control of his powers and I couldn't do anything but hold him, and hope he'd wake up... Couldn't even call for someone else to wake him, because without me powers I couldn't talk. Saw the things that Creed did down in those tunnels. Gambit ruddy saved one of the Morlocks. Know that because she attacked Emma in New York, when they went to pick up Leech and Artie for the school. How could you live in a house with Creed, and not with Rem? How could you decide that Rem deserved to die for what he did, and let Creed live?"/ He looked at her in disbelief, shaking his head in sorrow and confusion.

He continued, entirely telepathically now, still going through the motions of vocal speech: but the returning psi-fire had swallowed his lungs, leaving him unable to produce sounds. He could feel flickers of energy rising to his mouth as he 'spoke'. /Seen Leech's memories... snippets of things he saw past Hemingway's bulk... I know what the Marauders did down there. If anyone ever deserved to die, it was them... but X-men don't kill, so instead of giving Creed a fraction of what he deserved, you lot tried to rehabilitate him, and ended up letting him escape to kill more people. Funny how you forgot that little detail of 'X-men don't kill' when you appointed yourself Judge, Jury, and Executioner with Gambit. Tell me how what Rem did was any worse than what you did, or your mum, or the Prof, Logan, Warren.../

He trailed off, finally realising, now that his tirade was over, that he was losing his face and chest again. /Second thought, don't! Not sure how much control I still have, and didn't fight to protect this house and me lover just to blow it up, because me powers are going wonky. Gonna go somewhere that damage will at least be minimal if I do lose control/ he sent, and slipped out the back door and into the garden.

Unconsciously working out his blast radius, he moved away from the house. He kept going until he was certain that the house was out of range before he collapsed onto a rock and put his head in his hands.


	4. Fire of Justice: Coda

Title: Insights- Fire of Justice: Coda  
Author: Cassandra West  
Rating: PG for language  
Fandom: X-men  
Pairing: Jono/Remy (slightly)  
Feedback: candrawestfastmail.fm  
Word Count: 313  
Dates: Originally written August 2002, edited and cleaned up 17 August, 2004  
Notes: Part of a series called Insights that looks at particular moments in the character's lives. Originally written as part of an X-men slash RPG  
Main character listing: Jono  
Summary: After his rant at Rogue in 'Fire of Justice', Jono releases his power in a relatively controlled manner.  
Author Notes: This follows on several minutes after 'Fire of Justice'. In those intervening minutes, Remy, Emma, Jubilee, and some other mansion residents had realised he was losing control and converged on his location to try to help him. Unsurprisingly,this did not help him in the slightest.  
Acknowledgements: Thank you to my dear friend and adoptive brother, Star for the advice on the story and corrections on punctuation and grammar.  
Disclaimer: Jono, Remy, Emma, Jubilee, and all things X-men belong to Marvel, but the story herein is mine alone. I make no money from this.

/Thank you, Em/ Jono sent softly, with a slight nod. Glancing around to verify that everyone should be far enough away, he gently drew Jubilee further from the rock he'd been sitting on, then stepped in front of her. Concentrating, focussing the energy, tightening the aim, removing the concussive and explosive power usually present in his psi-fire, he channelled the powerful emotions, all those things keeping him from being able to deal with things rationally, the pain, the rage, the sorrow, sending them all into the core of the rock in a beam of heat. He kept pouring it on, until the rock was glowing with the heat; until it felt like standing near a roaring bonfire; until it was glowing too brightly to look at; until he couldn't muster the slightest flare of his power, and the psi-energy was entirely contained within his body, rather than flickering and flaring well beyond the ragged hole in his chest, as it usually did. The rock was now a red hot puddle of melted glass from the extreme heat directed into it.

He sank to his knees, silent tears of grief, regret, and simple relief sliding down his face. For once he did not terribly care about the whole men don't cry macho bullshit; he trusted Jubes, Emma, and Remy, if he was still around, enough to be able just give in to the tears without the need for the heaving, wracking 'dam has burst' sobs of the night before. He was overwhelmed: the dream, the rant at Rogue, what had happened here, his long held assumptions about his manifestation, the new possibilities raised by the dream, the hurt in Remy's voice, the regret in Rogue's, the severed link with Remy. It seemed like all he had done tonight was fuck up every situation he'd been in.

/Em, need the bandages now/ he sent weakly.


	5. Forgiveness

Jono woke up comfortable and contented for the first time in far too long. He just drifted sleepily in the cosy intimacy of sharing a bed for a while, curling into the warmth surrounding him. Eventually, he decided that his usual sleeplessness had kicked back in and he was as rested as he'd get in spite of the early hour. Slipping carefully out of the bed to avoid waking Remy, he got up.

Now that he was awake and alert enough to appreciate it, he went through the package from Jubilee. As always, the shirt was expensive, well made, and in utter defiance of people's usual perceptions that she had no taste or sense of colour. He ignored the picks and strings in favour of looking through the music. The demo tape brought one of his unique smiles to his face. He couldn't even really remember what songs they'd recorded, but the stupid joke that had resulted in the band being named 33 percent still amused him. Then the promo tape from when they were just starting to get popular enough for people to wish they were recording. Covers, not even of very good songs, but they'd liked them. Bloody 'Jailhouse Rock' thanks to Vic's Elvis obsession and tendency to pick out favourite songs on any instrument in front of him no matter what he was supposed to be doing. They'd called themselves Sex, Drugs, and Music with Rocks in, the stupid band name had come about from a mildly drunken Jono getting fed up with hours of bickering and being very distracted by what Vic had been doing to him under the table ever since he got sick of arguing about what to call themselves.

Funny how his friends had been able to accept his sexuality, even that he was bonking a band mate, but couldn't accept that he was a mutant. Or it would have been funny if it weren't so pitiful. Not all of them had reacted that way. Gavin had booked him into a private hospital, left a long letter assuring him he'd take care of everything and be there as soon as he could once Jono woke up. Marcus, who wasn't even really a friend, they only knew each other through Gavin, had assured him that he'd take care of the bills after Gavin's death and tried to help as far as he could. Colin and his mum had been just the same as always. Vic had tried until Jono asked him to stop visiting. And his Nan had been wonderful, but all of the rest of his family and all of the other people he'd called friends had acted like he never even existed, not that it was much of a change as far as his family was concerned.

He glanced at the "Band with Rocks In" tape with a bittersweet smile at the memories stirred up, then moved on to the Oliver! CD. He found himself wishing once again that it had been made just a few months later so that Colin would have been on it. The fact that it would be less embarrassing to have a recording of himself as the Artful Dodger instead of Oliver would have been an added bonus. As he slipped the booklet from the case, an envelope fell into his hand. It was addressed 'to the attention of Jonothan Starsmore' in neat, feminine handwriting he felt he should recognise. He raised an eyebrow in surprise when he pulled out a picture of a toddler along with the letter. Flipping it over, he closed his eyes against a stab of pain and hope at the information on the back. 'Gavin Jonothan Bennett, 18 months', and a date about six months ago. Confused and barely able to believe what he suspected it meant, he looked at the letter.

* * *

_Jono,_

_I feel like a complete git writing this, but Marcus and I decided to take the chance and Vic threatened to never speak to me again if I didn't. I can't imagine that anyone in America would be looking for these tapes unless they knew you. Even knowing how quiet you've always been about your past, I can't imagine that someone in America would even know about them unless you told them. But it seems so crazy. A part of me says that it's just some British ex-pat nostalgic for pub music from home... who happened to be enough of a fan to know all three names you guys recorded under and like your voice enough to want a six-year-old theatre soundtrack because you're on it. That's even crazier I guess, especially with such an 'only in America' name as Jubilation Lee. Anyway, we heard that this Ms. Lee was looking for the old tapes and decided to take the chance that she knows you._

_First I guess is an apology. I'm so sorry for the way Marcus and I treated you. The way I treated you really. I hope you know that Marcus never blamed you. He tells me he told you that, and that I didn't really. That I just needed time to deal with losing Gavin and you were an easy target. It's true. I forgave you a long time ago and finally admitted there was nothing to forgive anyway. Gavin wouldn't have wanted me to hold a grudge and if he's still around somewhere (Heaven being such a relevant concept in our lives and everything), I know he doesn't blame you. He wanted you in our lives, wanted his child to know you. He wanted to name the baby after you if it was a boy. He never stopped loving you, but I think you know that. You two were so alike in every way that mattered; it was hard not to be jealous, knowing you still loved each other. Gayle never deserved you because she couldn't grasp that no matter how much you loved each other, it didn't mean you wanted each other. I know it took me a while to understand it too, but at least I made the effort. Gayle preferred to use it against you every chance she got._

_You deserved so much better than that. You and Gavin could have been so happy together, it took a while to see that you were just as happy with your friendship as you would have been together. I wish so desperately that Gayle had been a person who could see that, the person you thought she was rather than someone who made you miserable. She's selfish Jono, wanted you for herself and couldn't bear that Gavin and Colin held a part of you that she couldn't touch, that you made each other better people. She never saw that you need to love so much that you can love that many people so deeply and desperately and still have more than enough love to give others. You deserved so much better than her constant jealousy. I can't really fault her for Gavin, I was jealous of you for a long time, but the others... Colin and Victor, your little sister, Evaline and little Jon, none of them could have taken your love from her except through her jealousy. Even I could see that Colin was the brother you never had, no matter what your original feelings for him. And Victor, well you have to either love him or hate him, but... well, he's Victor, he's like a big, bouncy Irish setter, loving him means you have a heart. Just like from what I've heard bonking him means you have a libido (and no, I don't know that from experience)._

_You and Gavin though, you loved each other because of the acceptance and respect you gave each other. You helped each other find out who you were. I forgot that for a while. But I remembered it when Gavin's son was born. You're his godfather, you know, just like Gavin wanted. I couldn't do exactly what he wanted, I needed his son to have his name too, especially since Marcus' name is on his birth certificate, but I did as much as I could. I can't think of anyone I'd rather have as my son's godfather or his namesake._

_God, look at this letter. This is about the third try and I still keep going off on tangents. You must be thinking 'same old Liza, rabbiting on again'. Suppose you wouldn't believe it was from me if I didn't rabbit on. Please forgive me Jonothan, and get in touch with us. We have a spare room (or suite, wing, guesthouse, portion of the grounds, penthouse flat, or even a lounge if you're feeling nostalgic) for you anytime you're in London. I want you to know your godson. I want to try to make up for some of the pain I caused you. Call us! Or write or email._

_Hoping to hear from you_

_Mary Elizabeth Bennett_

_m.e.bennett at realfriendsofhumanity . org . uk_

_P.S. I know how the email address must sound, but have a butcher's at www . realfriendsofhumanity . org . uk anyway (yes, I know, really bad attempt at Cockney, so sue me). I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. Would it help if I told you that the local FOH hates us? If that's not good enough, I hope you trust Victor, he was the driving force (and he'd kill me for telling you that). He finally hit his straps; he's become a knight errant. And I don't mean tilting at windmills. In spite of being quixotic, he's no Quixote. He's surprisingly good at dreaming the impossible dream, fighting the unbeatable foe, and running where the brave dare not go, along with all of the other idealistic stuff in that song. I think, I hope you'll be proud of him... and yourself. I don't know if he would have found a cause without you, but I think that this cause had a lot to do with you._

* * *

/Fuck me/ Jono muttered as he finished the letter, noting that Eliza had included a London address and phone number. He sat shocked for a little while, amazed at how much of Gavin he could see in the toddler in the picture, relishing the painful relief at Eliza's professed forgiveness of him for Gavin's death. At the same time though, that web address was worrying. Name could be either anti-mutant extremists who think the FOH is too easy on us or... maybe pro-mutant? Curiosity piqued, he went over to the computer and started it up. He wasn't any great shakes on the internet, but he could at least manage to connect through the Xavier security protocols and type in a web address.

He waited warily for the site to load, then swore softly when he saw the main page.

* * *

_Who are we?_

_We are the real friends of humanity. We devote ourselves to aiding mankind in all its varied forms, those conventionally called humans, the variants popularly known as mutants, even your friendly neighbourhood Neanderthal if you could still find any alive. They are all Homo sapiens regardless of form._

_The real friends of humanity object on scientific and personal grounds to the classification of mutants as homo superior. While we recognise that this classification can be empowering to mutants given the prejudice faced by members of that group, we object to the divisiveness implied by the separate specific name. Mutants are born to Homo sapien parents, are cross-fertile with Homo sapiens to at least three generations, and occur in all known human populations. These factors preclude their being a separate species or subspecies by every extant scientific convention on speciation._

_We are a non-profit organisation of people, mutant and not, fighting for basic human rights for all people. We use our talents, whether they are 'normal' ones such as skill at computers, research or public speaking or sporting abilities; or the results of the X-gene, to promote this cause. We picket, write letters, advocate social and legal changes, provide basic support like food and safe housing, and give of our time, energy, and resources to further the cause not just of coexistence, but of mutually beneficial community between mutants and non-mutants. Because community relies on knowing its members, none of us hide our identities or abilities from the general public..._

* * *

'Too bleeding good to be true', Jono thought to himself as he stopped reading and glanced at the pictures that had loaded in the meantime. He knew a lot of them: Colin and his mum, most of the band members, Marcus and Eliza, the mothers of the two children he had agreed to legally father without knowing or caring whether he'd biologically fathered them, a couple of his half-siblings. There were more that he didn't recognise, some obvious mutants, others who might be latents or norms or possibly mutants who could pass. There didn't seem to be more than about thirty people involved, judging by the pictures. He looked around the site a little, noting that Bennett Publishing was listed as a donor, which made sense. Marcus had always been more than willing to officially sponsor causes he believed in. Jono would have to ask Warren and Emma about news in the business world relating to the Bennett Publishing Group and the professor about whether he'd heard of the real friends of humanity. Depending on his success at getting one of the house netheads to find information, it might even be worth asking Paige for a favour so she could tell him things that might require some amount of hacking to find out. 'Charming Starsmore, You claim to care about her and the first time you actually think of getting in touch with her is to use her skills.'

/Fuck me/ he repeated, shaking his head at himself for even considering taking the site at face value.


	6. Hope

Title: Hope Author: Cassandra West Rating: PG-13 for slash Fandom: X-men Pairing: Jono/Remy Feedback: candrawestfastmail.fm Archive:http/ only. DO NOT ARCHIVE ELSEWHERE.  
Word Count: 710 Dates: Originally written August 2002, edited and cleaned up 26 August, 2004 Notes: Part of a series called Insights that looks at particular moments in the character's lives. Originally written as part of an X-men slash RPG Main character listing: Jono Summary: After inexplicably regaining and then losing his face, Jono attempts to face those changes.  
Author Notes: The morning after 'Fire of Justice'. Jono's psi-fire came back in 'Fire of Justice: Coda'. Again, he and Remy are involved with each other.  
Acknowledgements: Thank you to my dear friend and adoptive brother, Star for the advice on the story and corrections on punctuation and grammar. He also provided the lovely closing line from Remy.  
Disclaimer:Jono, Hank, Emma, Jubilee, Remy, and all things X-men belong to Marvel, but the story herein is mine alone. I make no money from this. 

He stood there for a second with his back to the door, then turned to face the mirror over the sink. Two years of practice made it all too easy to avoid looking in the mirror, as he unfastened the bandages. He had to do this, had to accept that the past two days had been only a temporary reprieve from the norm.

Steeling himself, he looked up and would have choked, if he still had the necessary structures. What in the world? You're imagining it, Starsmore. Don't want to believe that it's gone again, so you're imagining things. You've been avoiding mirrors so long, that you don't remember how bad the damage is. That had to be it. He deliberately hadn't looked in a mirror since just after his powers had stabilised, and he'd stopped losing bits of himself every time he used his powers; stopped sporting the cracked egg, 'falling apart at the seams' look.

He had looked in the mirror once, just long enough to see. To see how much of a shell he'd become. Must not have looked long enough because this couldn't be new. But it must be, because he could practically see it, now. Part of why he had avoided sleep as much as possible for so long. Because every time he closed his eyes, he saw it: saw himself staring back from that mirror. Smooth normal face right down to the exact point where his skin went from porcelain to faint pink, right to the very line of his lip. Then nothing, but the heat and light of his mutation.

But now... An extra few millimetres of skin, a slight pink fullness. The psi-fire starting at his mouth, where his mouth would open, not his lip. He was crazy. Imagining it. Reached out to touch the mirror, because somehow that was safer than touching his own face. Other hand reached hesitantly down to settle just above his navel. And that nearly convinced him. He was almost certain that there used to be just less than a handspan there. Finally withdrew his hand from the mirror to run his fingers over the now present lip.

/Jubes. Emma! Hank! One of you want to get up here and tell me I'm imaginin' things? Please/ He'd almost called for Angelo. Angelo would know. Angelo had seen it most often. For an insane moment he was tempted to do just that. See if maybe his range went that far. But that was beyond insane. He couldn't even manage Westchester from the city, so New York to California was definitely out of the question. No... Jubes, Emma, they'd seen it in fights, occasionally other times, when the damned bandages started feeling too much like a burial shroud and making him wonder if maybe there was some way he could end it, after all. Hank. Hank would have read the detailed description of his physical condition, could check it, tell him he was losing it. Tell him that the gaping hole was exactly as it had been, ever since D'Spayre. Only half aware that he'd called them, he stood staring into the mirror, running his fingers lightly over his lip.

He saw Remy's concerned expression over his shoulder in the mirror. He hadn't even heard the other man come in... or felt the arms wrapping around him in a tight embrace. He leaned back a little into Remy's arms, accepting the comfort offered. Talked to Remy's face in the mirror because he couldn't quite drag his eyes away. /This is new, Rem... Didn't used to look like this... Maybe it did... It's not how I remember it, but maybe I'm confused./ Ran his fingers over his lip and moved the hand on his stomach a little under Remy's hands. He couldn't give up the contact with the new skin long enough to complete the gesture to explain what he was talking about, almost afraid that if he moved his hands away, it would all disappear. /Called Em, Jubes... Hank, because he'll know me medical records. Gotta know if I'm dreaming this.../ He felt more than heard Remy telling him softly 'do not be afraid to hope, chere. Hope is the first and last thing that will keep you human.'


End file.
